


In the Moonlight

by TheXJames



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Developing Relationship, F/F, Jazz Age, Musical References, Musicians, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Piano, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 11:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheXJames/pseuds/TheXJames
Summary: As she thought back on the last few months she realized Chloe was the thing she had felt missing since she’d been in Portland. No longer did she feel the pang of loneliness that had shadowed her. She finally had someone who understood.





	In the Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wrote this short story with Bechloe in mind, and ended up using it for a Fiction Writing class I was in, so I had to change the names and all that (copywriting for the win) so if there are any incorrect pronouns PLEASE let me know so I can go in and fix it. 
> 
> This is a story that's dear to my heart, because it's not about Beca and Chloe's relationship as much as it is about Beca finding herself.
> 
> xxx Continue at your own risk....

In The Moonlight

 

 

 

The Moonlight Bar had exactly twelve patrons when Beca arrived. This wasn’t abnormal for a Tuesday, The Moonlight being a fairly unknown jazz bar trying make their mark in the thriving city that was Portland, but Beca was disappointed nonetheless. She had hoped Joey, the owner, would have drummed up more interest with his "Open Night" Tuesdays. Beca passed a couple playing darts in the corner as she made her way toward the bar, located directly in the center of the back wall. Joey nodded his head at her as she approached. She took her usual seat at the barstool in the left corner, against the wall, a spot one could see both the entrance of the bar and the small stage to the right of her. Joey had already fixed her drink, a Dark n' Stormy, the same drink she had every Tuesday evening after work. It was a favorite of hers, ginger beer mixed with dark rum and a few bitters.

 

Beca’s fingers ran along the rim of her glass as she considered her day. All in all it had been an average Tuesday. She listened to a few tracks from new artists looking to record at the studio, discussed time slots for the week with her boss, Brandon, and rearranged the middle booth for the semi-famous rock band that was coming in the following morning. She was enjoying working for EMP Studios, having been given more responsibility since her internship ended a few weeks prior. No longer did she deliver coffee and burritos to the real employees, well she still delivered coffee sometimes, but now she had an ID card and a desk. She was asked for input and genuinely listened to. It was nice, but still not where she wanted to be. When she moved to Portland Beca thought it would be a fresh start, allowing her to stop dwelling on her mother's death and begin moving up in the music industry. Slowly that was happening, but she still wasn't able to play. She hadn't been, not really, since her mother had left her.

Beca was brought out of her head when the stage lights turned on. She looked around her and saw that a few more customers had arrived, giving the small bar a full appearance although there were still less than thirty people. She loved living less than a block away from The Moonlight. Jazz was her favorite music style and although Joey’s place was far from thriving, he managed to always find a few musicians a week to play live. Tuesday nights were Beca’s favorite, any musician that wanted to play a song or a few could come in and take the stage. Beca dreamed of being on that stage one day, playing her songs to the half attentive crowd before her. Every week she said to herself that she would do it, this would be her week, and every week she went home slightly buzzed with fingers never touching the ivory keys of that old piano.

“You’ll like the girl about to play B.” Joey said to her as he worked on drinks for three girls who were waiting at the bar. “She’s new in town, played a couple songs for me this afternoon. She’s got your style.” Joey was the only person in Portland who had heard Beca play. He allowed her to come in on her days off and practice before the bar opened. Beca appreciated that he never pushed her to play at night; it was as if Joey knew she wasn't ready.

Beca turned to face the stage in time to see a woman not much past her age sitting on the piano bench. She had red hair, a shade or two lighter than auburn, cascaded down her shoulders to the center of her back. On her right wrist was a black leather watch, the face of which catching the spotlight shining on the stage. She wore dark wash jeans that were a clean cut and a plain white v-neck shirt. The woman didn’t say anything into the microphone that she adjusted to fit her height, she simply took a breath and began to play.

Beca was entranced as she watched her fingers grace the ivory keys, a melody floating through the air so hauntingly beautiful she had no other thought. Her eyes closed as the music overtook her and she saw the colors of the notes surrounding her, greens and blues and purples and blacks, floating through her mind in tune with a song she didn’t know. Her eyes however snapped open at the first sound of the woman’s voice. Beca couldn’t look away. The woman sang with such clarity and precision she had to be classically trained. She closed her eyes again, leaning forward slightly on her barstool. The song was so obviously jazz in its purest form, reminding her of the vinyls she and her mother would listen to when she was a child. As the woman continued to sing Beca could feel her heart break at the sadness in her voice. The melancholy melody danced around her, flooding her soul with emotion. She sighed, the moment embodying exactly why she loved music so much.

As the song drew to a close, Beca found herself leaving her barstool and heading toward the furthest side of the stage. The woman closed the piano, slid the bench back and walked in her direction, the emotion not yet leaving her eyes. She felt compelled to say something to her but had no idea what to say. This random stranger had just reminded her in approximately four minutes why she moved to Portland in the first place. What was she supposed to say to her? Fortunately, she didn’t have to decide that.

“Can you pass me that jacket?” Beca jerked back to reality to realize the stranger was speaking to her. She looked at where she was pointing and saw a black bomber jacket draped over the chair behind her. Beca picked it up and passed it to her, noticing her eyes were the clearest shade of blue she’d ever seen. The stranger took the jacket and started to turn when Beca suddenly said “Wait!” She turned back and looked at her, blue eyes questioning.

“I’m sorry. I just - did you write that?” She gestured toward the piano. The stranger smiled slightly and nodded her head.

“I did. A long time ago.” Beca returned the smile on her face.

“People don’t write jazz anymore.” She said quietly, almost as if to herself. The stranger however heard her and responded in kind.

“I do.” She then nodded her head in goodbye and walked toward the door of the bar. Beca was so caught up in her thoughts about somebody writing that style of jazz in this decade that she almost missed the stranger leaving. She hurried around a table to follow her out the door.

“Hey! Will you play again?” Beca cringed to herself, this was not a successful conversation. The stranger just turned her head to her.

“Next Tuesday.” She said and continued down the sidewalk.

 

Beca continued her Tuesday routine. She would head to The Moonlight after work, say hello to Joey, and grab her usual seat by the bar. About halfway into her drink the stranger, whom she had dubbed Red, would come in and set up. She would play a song or two before heading to the bar and getting a drink. This week though, Red ordered two drinks instead of one. Beca couldn’t help but notice the second drink was her preferred beverage. She then noticed that Red was looking her way, and when she made eye contact a simple nod of her head let her know the drink was meant for her. She pushed her chair out from the table and walked to the bar. Red pulled the barstool out for her slightly and she thanked her before sitting down.

“What did you think of that second song?” Red asked after Beca took a sip of her  

drink. She thought for a moment, remembering the way the main melody flowed through the interweaving countermelody.

“It worked up until the end.” Beca stated honestly. Red looked at her, amusement in her crystal eyes.

“What was wrong with the end?” She questioned.

"It just didn't work." Beca replied.

"Why not?" Red responded.

"It just didn't."

"There's got to be a reason." She said. "So what is it?"

“Well, honestly up until the end the song is battling with itself. The minor key gives power to your main chorus while your bass clef challenges it. It’s brilliant, but the end is too…” Beca thought for a moment how to best describe what she meant. “It’s too pretty. The battle gets lost in lieu of a nice ending.” Red studied her for a moment before speaking again.

“Okay. How would you end it?” She challenged.

“I would staccato. Cut the song immediately following the second bridge.” Beca answered while stirring her drink with the mixing straw. She suddenly felt less confident about her words, wishing the stranger hadn’t asked her opinion of her music. She was surprised when she responded.

“It’s a good idea. I’ll have to play around with that. I’m Chloe by the way.” Red - Chloe - stood from her barstool and shrugged her jacket on over her shoulders. “Have a good night.” She looked at her expectantly, and Beca realized she was waiting for her name in return.

“Beca.” She said quietly. Chloe smiled at her, she had a kind smile she thought.

“Well goodnight Beca. See you next week?” She nodded yes, she was here every Tuesday. After Chloe left Beca continued nursing the drink she bought her, thinking more about the songs she played tonight. Her music was raw and emotional, a direct contrast to her voice which was polished and smooth. Her thoughts were interrupted by Joey clearing his throat.

“So you and Chloe seem to get along.” Joey said with an air of nonchalance that was a touch too convenient. Beca narrowed her eyes at him.

“She’s the most talented person you’ve had in here Joey, that’s all.” Joey smiled but mumbled to himself

“Not the most talented.” Beca didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. Instead she stood up, said goodnight to Joey and left for her apartment.

 

The following Monday was by far one of the worst days at work since Beca took this job. Everything went wrong; the studio lighting was out, her afternoon client never showed, and she spilled coffee all over her new blouse. She needed some stress relief, so instead of heading toward her apartment from work she went straight to The Moonlight. It didn’t open for a couple of hours but Beca knew Joey would already be there setting up. She walked in the side door for bar staff and saw Joey wiping the tables near the stage down.

“Hey Joey, can I play for a bit?” Joey nodded yes without even looking up. He was accustomed to Beca stopping by randomly to practice by now. Beca moved to the piano, removing her jacket and setting it on the bench beside her. She could feel the stress leaving her body as soon as her fingers touched the keys.

She had just finished the song she was currently working on when she heard a voice behind her, one that didn’t belong to Joey. “You didn’t mention you were a musician, though I should have known from the way you critiqued my song.” Beca turned around to see Chloe standing three feet from her.

“What are you doing here?” She questioned, feeling self conscious as she had no idea how long she had been listening to her.

“I always come in and practice my set Monday afternoons. How long have you been playing?” Beca looked away from Chloe and toward the piano.

“A while.” She said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you needed to practice. I’ll be out of your way.” She stood to leave but felt a hand grip her arm lightly.

“You don’t have to go. If you don’t have anywhere else to be it would be nice to have a second ear.” Beca turned to say no but caught Chloe’s eyes before she could say anything. The look she wore was a familiar one, one she had seen many times in the mirror. She was looking for someone that understood, the same way she always had. A thought occurred to her then, that this woman might have dealt with the same thing she had since her mother had passed. Although everyone in her life applauded her musicality, nobody got it. Nobody felt the way she did when playing, or even listening to, a great song. They didn’t understand. They could never understand. So Beca did something completely unnatural to her; instead of leaving and going back to the safety of her apartment, she simply sat back down on the piano bench. She glanced back to Chloe and replied

“I can stay for a while.”

 

She was adding more habits. In addition to her Tuesday evening schedule, Beca now spent Monday afternoons at The Moonlight. She would listen to Chloe’s set, give her opinions on what worked and what could be changed, and inevitably have to divert Chloe’s interest in hearing her play again. She was on the fifth week of her routine when Chloe abruptly stopped playing. She turned to her questioningly. “Why have you never played Jazz night?” Beca struggled to respond to the seemingly random question, so Chloe continued. “Or open nights for that matter? In fact, other than that first day I’ve never seen you play. Why?” Beca took a breath before answering.

“I don’t play for people. I play for myself.” Chloe scoffed at this.

“Well that’s just dumb.” Beca looked taken aback at that response.

“Excuse me? I can play for whomever I choose thank you.” Chloe held her hands up in defense.

“You’re right, you can. I just think it’s unfair - not allowing people to hear what you have to say.” Beca stared at her in confusion.

“What I have to say? I don’t have anything to say, I don’t even write lyrics.” Chloe turned back to the keys and began playing lightly.

“You and I both know you can say plenty without words Beca. I think you have a lot to say in your music, and you aren’t letting anyone hear it.” No other words were spoken, Chloe just went back to playing while Beca continued to sit beside her, half listening to the music and half thinking about what she said.

 

It came up again a couple of weeks later. “Is it that you’re scared?” Chloe asked as she walked up to the stage. “Is is stage fright?” Beca rolled her eyes at her.

“You know, maybe I just don’t want to.” Chloe shook her head no.

“I don’t believe that though. Nobody that plays the way you do wants to keep that to themselves. So why do you?” She didn’t want to talk about this with her anymore.

“Chlo, just drop it okay?” Beca looked at her sternly. Chloe wasn’t looking at her though, she was studying the lower key register of the piano.

“I'm not going to drop it.” Chloe started plucking at the keys. "I think you're scared."

"I'm not scared." Beca said.

"I was scared once." Chloe mumbled as she turned to look at her. "I nearly threw up at my first real gig. It was at a jazz festival in Eugene and I was one of three local kids they asked to play. Scariest night of my life."

"And let me guess, you got over the fear and played your best ever?" Beca asked sarcastically.

"The opposite actually, I screwed up massively. It was horrible." Chloe laughed.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, I sounded like a four year old. Totally forgot what song I was supposed to be playing. I nearly quit piano entirely after that." Chloe looked back to the piano. "I didn't quit though. I practiced harder. And I got better. It made me realize that this was what I loved. This was what I was supposed to be doing."

"I used to feel that way." Beca sighed. "I used to play all the time, especially for my mom."

"Why'd you stop?" Chloe questioned.

"When she died-" Beca had to stop and collect herself. She hadn't talked about this with anyone in a long time. "It hurts now, you know? It didn't hurt before."

Chloe stood up from the piano bench and Beca looked at her curiously. "It has to hurt to heal Beca. So let it hurt." She motioned for her to play, and this time she didn't argue with her.

Beca tried not to think about the fact that she was willingly letting someone hear her music. She took a breath and flexed her fingers, trying to relax. In that moment, she pictured herself being back in her childhood bedroom, playing on her first keyboard that her mother had bought her for Christmas when she was eight. It was her favorite present that year by far. Her family had always had a piano in their living room but with the keyboard Beca was able to experiment with her music in the comfort of her bedroom. Nobody could hear her, nobody would judge her when she messed something up, it was perfect. She allowed her fingers to glide over the keys as she forgot Chloe was even there.

The melody flowed through her body to the keys of the piano as she got lost in the music. She paused at the final bridge, allowing her last note to fade into the abyss before the cadence picked back up into the end of the song. She realized her eyes had closed, and opened them as the final note still rang in her mind. She looked over at Chloe and noticed she was staring at her hands. She shook her head slightly and laughed.

“You really don’t get it do you?” She asked quietly.

“Get what?” Beca asked.

"How good you are." Chloe said.

"I'm not that good." Beca argued.

“I’ve been playing for most of my life and I could never do what you can. It’s a gift Beca, truly a gift. You manipulate the music to do your will. You shouldn’t hide it.” Chloe took one of her hands softly. “Even if it hurts.” Beca felt her heart speed up at her touch, as well as the thought of her wanting her to perform for people. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke.

"I don’t have anything to say. It’s just music, no poignant lyrics that touch someone you know?” Chloe shook her head again.

“No Beca, you don’t need lyrics. Your voice flows through your melody. Think of the greatest songs you know. What speaks to you in them? The words might be strong, but it’s the melody that binds them to you. That’s what touches someone’s soul Beca, and that’s what you could do. That’s what you were made to do.”

 

Beca could barely breathe. It had been two months since she started playing for Chloe. Since then, both she and Joey had mentioned multiple times that she should play at Open Night. She would always deflect of course, but after begging from both of them, she had agreed. She wasn't sure what caused her to agree now, after all this time. Maybe it was the sheer annoyance she felt at Chloe and Joey for constantly bothering her about playing. Maybe it was the fact that she felt comfortable playing in front of Chloe now. Maybe it was the faith she seemed to have in her. She believed in her music, in her, in a way nobody had since her mother. Whatever the reason, she agreed to play.

This left her in the situation she was currently in, sitting in her apartment an hour before she was supposed to be at The Moonlight, debating on how she could get out of this. Just as she was determined to cut her losses and never go back to the bar, she caught sight of the last gift her mother had ever given her. It was a Rhodia composing book that she received the night of her fourteenth birthday. Beca picked it up and opened the front cover, staring at the words her mother had written.

_‘My dearest daughter, as you grow into yourself remember the words of the greats. Play your own way. Don’t play what the public wants. You play what you want and let the public pick up on what you’re doing. Be true to yourself. Don’t let anyone stop you. You are meant to be heard.’_

A tear slipped from Beca's eye as she thought about her mother writing those words, probably from her hospital bed. She’d only made it another week after Beca’s birthday before succumbing to the cancer she had battled for two years. Beca read the inscription again and realized she had to do this. Even if it was the only time she ever performed, she had to do it for her mother. Moreover, she had to do it for herself.

The Moonlight Bar had exactly twelve patrons when she arrived. Beca took her seat at her usual barstool, Joey already having her Dark n’ Stormy ready. Her Tuesday routine was in full swing, the difference being that she would be on stage in twenty minutes as opposed to Chloe. Beca looked around to see if she had arrived yet, and smiled when she noticed her at the far side of the stage. Chloe noticed her looking and walked over to where she was sitting. “Everything’s ready.” Chloe must have sense her nerves because she followed up with “You’ll do great Beca. Don’t play for them, play for you.” Beca looked at her, realizing how similar the words were to her mother’s. She nodded, taking another sip of her drink before Joey motioned for her to head to the stage.

Beca walked up to the piano and sat down on the bench. She rested her hands on the keys and focused on breathing. Joey flipped the stage lights which surprisingly helped her by hiding the audience from her sight. She could only see the piano and Chloe, who had taken a position at the side of the stage in her eyesight. She appreciated her more than she had realized, as Chloe had managed to open her up to the idea that she could do this. As she thought back on the last few months she realized Chloe was the thing she had felt missing since she’d been in Portland. No longer did she feel the pang of loneliness that had shadowed her. She finally had someone who understood.

She looked to Chloe one last time and she smiled, nodding her head in a silent gesture of support. She knew it was time, so she took a deep breath and began to play. Almost immediately she was lost in the melody, once again seeing the colors of the notes coming from the piano. She felt the music swirling around her, grounding her and driving her forward.

As the last note of her song rang out Beca glanced over the top of the piano toward Chloe, who was already looking at her from the side of the stage. She smiled that same kind smile she had first seen on her, her eyes shining in understanding and pride. She spared a quick look at the ivory keys one more time before bringing her eyes back to crystal blue, and she smiled too.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really would love feedback, as this is one of the first completely original short stories I have worked on. Obvs it was written for Bechloe, but while I tried to maintain facets of their characters I took a lot of liberties as well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading you guys!
> 
> xx


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